Strictly Ballroom?
by You-drive-me-nuts-miller
Summary: Open amateur Killian Jones is a ballroom dancing star - it's in his blood. But when he tires of the restrictions that competition places of him and he desperately needs a new partner, will beginner Emma Swan be just what he needed? (Shameless AU based on the movie of the same name!)
1. Prologue: New Moves

Preparations:

Cuban heels, two inches.

Latin pants with satin binding.

Gel, extra strong hold:hair combed to one side.

§§§

From behind the dark curtain, the crowd roared. The bright lights of the auditorium penetrated the thick claret velvet, giving it an eerie, pinkish glow.

He stretched out his hand. She willingly accepted, twisting on her heel and rolling into his arms; her canary yellow skirt billowing out around her. The feather trim rippled in the wake of her movement and the glittered sequins on the bodice twinkled in the filtered light.

"You ready?"

She nods.

§§§

One-two-three. One-two-three-

The waltz flowed so easily. His hand settled softly on the curve of his partner's back. His face wore the practiced smile of over 20 years of dancing. So gracefully, they moved across the polished oak floor, their suede soled shoes gliding easily across the glossy wax coating. Their steps were a mixture of calculated pivots on studied heels and well planned drags on practiced toes.

Easy.

Easy easy easy, he thought as he spun Milah around under the bright lights; those lights barely metered by the blue gel coating that had been provided to ease the glare.

A step here, a twist there. Motions he had undertaken a million times.

He could do this in his sleep.

§§§

It was time for the Latin American section: feathers and sequins and acres of exposed skin. His yellow sequinned pants hugged his lithe hips. His tightly fitted shirt was slashed to the waist, exposing a deep V of tawny skin and dark chest hair.

The sultry Latin beat lent itself to a variety of dances: ones that loosened the hips and swept away inhibitions.

But as usual Killian Jones stuck to his signature dance: the rhumba. The dance of love (aka, the crowd pleaser).

Across the room Neal Cassidy slid his partner across the floor. Tamara Winter: all state champion three years running.

Their only real competition.

Milah cleared her throat and caught his attention. He licked his lips and gave her a smile. Damn, she was a beautiful woman: chocolate eyes and creamy skin. But smile on her face was almost plastic. Her skin was layered in multicoloured glitter that caught the light and no doubt blinded some of the spectators. All part of the game, he thought.

And she was a good dancer and was a winner. That's all that mattered, right?

The beat began. His hips rocked to the music. Quick steps. His breathing rate increasing with every minute.

The lively rhythm was achingly familiar. Years of toil and practice had honed his muscles into a familiar pattern. Step step, toe. Step step, toe…

§§§

It was the last set of the dance. A minute or so to go. He rolled Milah into his arms and dipped her back before releasing his embrace and spinning her out.

The crowd cheered.

Then _they _were there.

Somehow Killian and Milah were pressed in the corner of the chequered dance floor.

_Neal._

Their rivals had followed them across the floor - spreading out in a diagonal line that had Killian swearing under his breath as Milah pulled a confused expression -the cornered pair locked in a small space of less than two square feet.

They had no chance to win when cornered. With nowhere to dance it was inevitable.

_Not if he could do something about it…_

Gritting his teeth, he tumbled forward and dropped to his knees: sliding forward and gliding easily under Neal and Tamara's arms. He looked back. Milah was staring at him incredulously with wide eyes and an open mouth.

He held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, looking around for some kind of instruction. Not wanting to waste any more time he leaned over his rival's arms and grasped her waist, tumbling her over the obstruction in a magnificent cartwheel.

Freedom.

With a flick of his hips and a roll on his feet he was covering the floor in quick steps to the hungry beat of his shoes. She tried to keep up as he started to leap forward, spinning in the air.

The crowd. _They were roaring_.

His chest swelled with pride.

_More._

They danced in quick steps: he was barely touching the ground or registering the beat. Killian carrying Milah across the brown, glossy floor; tipping her into the air - the yellow sequins dancing in the spotlights, the beat of clapping hands filling the air.

§§§

Caked in sweat, his arm slipped around her waist as they bowed to the crowd. Around them the other dancers gathered. Milah refused to look at him. She was scowling.

On the stage across the floor, Mr. Bobby Gold, President of the Maine State Dancing Federation, tapped on the chrome coated microphone and gave a greasy smile.

"Ladies and gentleman, before we announce this evening's winning couple, we have a disqualified pair: Mr Jones and partner are no longer eligible after undertaking a series of illegal moves in tonight's competition."

Across the auditorium there was silence for a second, until a low hiss of boos and whistles began to filter though from the spectating crowd. Milah stiffened in his arms. He tried to pull her closer, but she shifted her shoulders and took a small step to her left before looking back to give him one, quick scathing glance.

_Shit._

_**A/N - so what do you think?**_

PS - thanks for the notes about the formatting being messed up! I had internet connection problems and I've just been able to fix it! J x


	2. Beginners Class

Goddamn it was hot in the studio.

The dance space had always been a little on the small side; about the size of tennis court, the floor was made of faded parquet which may have once been in vogue. Around the edges of the room were grey plastic chairs - the kind with the metal legs that nest together in towering stacks, always threatening to topple over at any moment.

Even though it was small, the a/c unit normally sucked away any moisture that accumulated in the rare, warm Maine months. But of course this week - the hottest, most humid period the county had seen in a decade - the ancient cooling system of Jones and Sons Dance Academy had finally given up. There had been promises made for a quick repair - they had dripped from the manager, Liam's, lips as quickly as the droplets of sweat had run down his chin - but that seemed unlikely. Building maintenance seemed to be bottom of the dance academy's list of priorities. Whether it was the permanently crooked sign above the door, the missing shingles from the roof, or the hole in the floor of the ladies bathroom (covered, almost, by a waste paper bin): the whole place had the air of an establishment that had fallen on tough times.

Emma wiped her forehead on the shoulder of her ancient *NSYNC t-shirt. It had become her unofficial dance class 'uniform' (along with a faded pair of once-black leggings, that were slowly developing a hole in the crotch). The thinning cotton was stretched out and baggy; her habit of tugging on the hem with her right hand had resulted in JC Chasez's face becoming misshapen until he almost resembled the character Sloth from her favorite childhood movie, The Goonies.

It was not like it mattered though. In the beginners class (seven pm, Thursdays) a dozen women sweated their way through basic steps, led by the flamboyant - and eccentric - Idina Joseph. Affectionately named 'Granny', Idina was a one-time Miss Maine, two-time North East tap champion and one time lover of Fred Astaire (or so she said). Her penchant for bright floral prints and chunky gold jewelry that clattered as she walked, made her hard to miss.

"Higher girls, higher," she crooned over the top of the waltz that was creaking out of the record player near the door to the kitchenette in the far corner of the studio. Yes, record player. Jones and Sons liked to keep things 'authentic'. (Though Emma suspected this was just another way of saving money. But it was always funny to watch the seniors try and dance a tango alongside a skipping record).

"Higher!" she repeated, tapping against her palm the pair of lace gloves that she always wore - only removed today, she presumed, because it was so damn hot.

"Let's go," she croaked to Ruby. Beside her, her friend was standing ramrod straight, her arms outstretched as if cradling an imaginary partner, a dreamy smile on her lips. "Ruby!" Emma hissed.

The brunette frowned and tilted her head. "What?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "I said let's go. I'm sweating buckets."

"Another five minutes - I've nearly got this!"

The sweat was running down her back. She reached back and peeled the material from her skin. Urgh. "Well, I'm taking a break," she replied, stomping off to the kitchenette to grab a bottle of chilled water from the fridge.

As soon as she pulled out the clear container, the sides became sleek with condensation; the paper label was quickly saturated. Tugging on the lid, its grooves dug into her skin and the paper began to disintegrate beneath her fingers. Finally the lid broke free, just as she squeezed the center of the bottle, sending a gush of water straight over her shirt.

"Shit!"

"Need a hand?"

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, she looked up - wide eyed and surprised.

As soon as she saw the gorgeous silhouette of Killian Jones, she choked back the urge to cough and began to pat aimlessly at the damp stain on Justin Timberlake's face. "I, umm-"

Smiling, he walked forward. He reached into a draw on the right of the small kitchen, pulling out a roll of paper towels and tearing off a few sheets before holding them out. "Here."

"Thanks," Emma muttered. Taking them, she looked down and pressed the sheets against the damp spot - suddenly realizing that her bright purple bra was clearly visible through the now translucent material.

"Anytime, -?" he paused. Of course he didn't remember her name. They'd only met like three times before (well four if she counted the time she had walked past him at the market, but he hadn't actually noticed her, his eyes had been otherwise occupied with his dance partner, Milah. _Queen Bee of Dance_ in southern Maine).

"Emma," she nodded, balling up the spent tissues and crushing them in her fingers.

"Emma," he repeated, taking a bottle of iced tea from the fridge as he spoke. "See you around. Maybe get someone to help you next time."

And he winked. He goddamn winked at her. And if she hadn't already been beet red from embarrassment she was sure that that simple action would have turned her the color of a strawberry in an instant.

She opened her mouth to speak, but just as quickly as he arrived, he was gone.

Goddamn Killian Jones.

* * *

It's not like he even knew who she was.

When Ruby had dragged her along to dance classes six months earlier, she had grumbled profusely - it was old fashioned, pointless, boring. But Ruby had pulled the best friend card (and it was for her wedding so it was kind of important to her) and Emma had reluctantly agreed.

After two weeks of 'step-toe-heel' she had just about had her fill when _he_ walked in. Killian Jones, the younger brother and wayward son of the 'Jones and Sons' academy. All slicked back hair and tight pants.

She should not have found him attractive. God, she should have laughed at his clichéd handsome looks and the way his shirt was only half unbuttoned - or even that ridiculous movie star smile that he seemed to flash around the room so carelessly. Yet instead she had stared, swallowed and instantly developed a crush, the kind of which she hadn't known since high school.

So when Ruby had signed them up for a six month beginner course, Emma had smiled and handed over her Mastercard.

It's not like hot men were exactly easy to come by in middle-of-nowhere Maine. Her job working in bail bonds meant antisocial hours and a tendency to instantly intimidate a man when he asked what she did. After years of misadventures in dating, she had celebrated turning 30 by officially giving up - taking on extra hours at work, saving every scrap so she could one day escape this small patch of the world and find what she was looking for. Though it wasn't as if she knew exactly what that was.

In fact, the simple reason she had committed to a weekly dance class was a big deal in the world of Emma Swan.

And maybe that was why it was so nice to have a crush. A safe, non-threatening fantasy about a guy for whom she knew so little about. Actually, that improved things. With just a name, a face and a voice he could be whoever she wanted.

And that's how five months later, and one month before her best friend's wedding, she was sweating it out in the miserable 90-plus degrees heat. Counting the times she met him, hoping that maybe one day he would remember her name.

* * *

"Oh my god, did you hear?" Ruby hissed as Emma walked out of the pantry.

Sinking back a small sip, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, "Hear what?"

"Last night, at the tri-state finals, Killian was disqualified!"

"What?" Emma snorted, a little water shooting up into her nose and making her sneeze violently.

"Hey, calm down there lover girl," Ruby laughed, patting her friend on the shoulder as she caught her breath.

Emma gave her a scathing glance, before breaking out into a smile. Although she'd tried to downplay her thing for the younger Jones brother, she had figured it out within weeks and took every chance to tease Emma mercilessly - and she had to admit she did kind of enjoy it.

"He danced non-standard steps during the rhumba. And," she began, glancing around before continuing in a conspiratorial tone, "He's been ditched by Milah."

"His partner? But I thought they were, you know-"

Ruby shrugged and flexed her brows, "Who cares? All I know is he's probably going to need a new partner…"

With a glance to the ceiling, Emma sighed and rolled her shoulders forward, "Ruby - what are you trying to say-"

"I'm not saying anything. Just laying out some facts."

Kicking back a heel, she brushed her hair over her shoulder. Before Emma could respond, Ruby had skipped off towards Granny, twirling around in a box step as she went.

* * *

"You need to apologise."

Killian cooly sipped the bottle of ice tea, his legs nonchalantly crossed on the table in front of him as his older brother paced across the room.

"She'll calm down. You know what Milah is like."

"Really? Are you sure? She seemed pretty pissed to me when she threw her shoes at you in the dressing room. Do you understand how important the next few months are?"

The younger brother sighed and ran his finger over the small bruise under his eye; that had hurt. He wished that Liam would stop treating him like a child - seven years between them were a big deal when they were kids, but now they were both in their thirties the gap had become almost insignificant.

"Of course I do Liam! You've told me a thousand times - I'm the wrong side of thirty and that this season could be may last one in competition."

Liam sat down on the couch and gave Killian a small smile, "Yes. And you know it's essential that we get some positive publicity for the Academy, or…"

He didn't need to finish. Killian was all too aware of the financial situation the business was in. Although Liam worked full time and Killian took seasonal work on the docks, the Academy was bleeding money.

"I know," Killian murmured into his drink.

"We're on our last line of credit with the bank. I got a letter last week - I was waiting till after yesterday's competition to tell you - we have six months to settle our debts or they will foreclose on the mortgage."

Killian thought back to the day the Academy had opened. He'd only been about five; he remembered the happy look on his mom's face when he had cut the large, red ribbon that ran across the front door as Liam had sulked in a corner - heavy headphones covering his ears as he went through his short lived 'goth' phase. He remembered the crowds of people at the opening ceremony, the classes that were bursting at the seams, the fresh paint and the glossy wooden floor.

25 years ago: almost a life time away.

Letting out a slow, measured breath, Killian met his brother's eyes: a silent understanding passing between them, he needed to start winning again and he needed Milah to do that. "I'll go talk to her."

* * *

The class was ending. Around the edges of the room, small groups were chatting - sharing gossip and packing away their belongings. Emma took the ragged gym towel from her backpack and pressed it against her damp forehead as Ruby took yet another call from her fiancé, Victor (yes, she was her best friend, and yes, she was happy for her but God Emma wished they could go an hour without talking to each other).

"Killian!"

Emma started at the sound of a screeching voice and stiletto heels against wood. When she looked up she paused: _Milah_.

Poised. Elegant. Groomed. The damn woman was everything that Emma thought she ought to be. She pulled awkwardly on the hem of her misshapen t-shirt as the brunette tugged off her expensive looking sunglasses with one carefully manicured hand. Hand on hip, she began to tap the toe of her sunshine-yellow heels. The immaculate tight, white jeans she wore made her legs seem to go on forever. Her makeup was perfect (including glossy red lips and full false lashes). Her tailored navy jacket nipped in at her tiny waist, the bright yellow scarf at her neck providing a punch of colour.

Perfect, Emma grumbled to herself as she tugged her backpack onto her shoulders.

"Milah."

The smirking figure of Killian Jones appeared at the other side of the dance floor. Thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and a lopsided smile on his face, he dipped his head, giving Milah (and the whole room) his best 'come hither' look.

"Oh, there's the asshole," she spat, tossing back her mane of shimmering chocolate waves and straightening her purse on her shoulder.

"Honey," he cooed, snaking his hips as he moved towards her; each step almost a dance of its own, the whole room watching, entranced.

Milah folded her arms and shook her head, "Don't you 'honey' me."

"You don't mean that," Killian drawled, reaching her side and bringing his lips to her ear (did they realise that everyone was watching?).

"After last night, I certainly do. Now give me my key and I'll be going."

His hand slid up her arm and pulled the strap of her purse down, the bag dropping quietly to the floor. Emma's heart moved into her throat, The move seemed so innocent, yet so sensual and seductive at the same time. She clenched her thighs close together.

"Forgive me," he pleaded, his tone almost flippant as he reached down laced his fingers into hers.

"You're not as smooth as you think you are, Jones," she retorted, turning her cheek to him as Emma watched on, trying not to let out a little gasp.

"Oh really?"

He smiled again, that same damn devastating smile that Emma was sure he had perfected by spending hours at a mirror. Then, in a second, his arm had wrapped around her, grabbing her other hand, before spinning her out from his outstretched arm, her feet making quick little steps across the dance floor.

Those around gasped. In the corner there was a shuffling of vinyl and cardboard. The two dancers stared each other down as the needle of the record player began to scratch over the dimpled surface of the disc that Granny had selected. Then the familiar bars of music began to fill the room, the opening beat sending Killian's feet sliding across the floor as he dragged his feet, circling his partner.

_You won't admit you love me, and so, how am I ever to know?_

_You always tell me, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps._

She was back in his arms, the two swaying to the music as they started to glide over the floor. He was leading, making quick turns followed by slow pivots, where Milah spun elegantly on those towering heels that Emma couldn't even imagine walking in.

Transfixed, she realised she was holding her breath. She turned her head. Ruby was ignoring the display and watching her friend, giving her a quick wink when their eyes met. Emma blushed and dipped her head. God, she was so single.

Looking up again, she sighed when she saw Milah's smile. Clearly the rift was short lived-

But then, the record skipped. Mid-turn, Killian paused. His foot twisted on his heel. Then, before she could take stock, Emma watched as he began to tap his feet quickly - tugging Milah with him as he tossed his legs into the air, reaching out his free arm and spinning his partner around him in a dizzying pace which had Emma's head spinning.

"Stop!"

Her screeching voice towered over the sound of the record. A second later, the needle was pulled away.

All eyes in the room looked across - it was the other Jones brother, Liam. And he looked pissed.

"Liam, I can't do it. I won't do it-"

Milah was walking in rapid little steps towards the older brother as Killian span on his heel in the middle of the empty dance floor.

"Now then love, let's not get carried away."

"I can't!" she hissed, tossing back a resentful look at an unrepentant Killian. "He's gone mad!"

Liam placed his hands on her upper arms and she seemed to calm a little. "It's just a blip love, you two are winners. You know that."

"I can't dance with him if he is going to use those steps."

"He won't," Liam promised. "Killian!"

The younger sibling, rolled his eyes. Emma suppressed the urge to laugh at the spectacle of one grown man treating the other like a child.

"Yes?" he chirped, turning on another megawatt smile.

"I need you to reassure your beautiful, and very talented, partner that you are in this to win."

"I am," he nodded.

Milah sniffed and turned her body slightly towards him. "So no, whatever that was. Only proper dance steps?"

The crowd held their breath as Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear. His mouth twisted and he raised an eyebrow.

"Killian," Liam urged.

With a flat smile, he tossed up his arms, "I can't do that."

"Well that is that!" Milah cried, reaching down and picking up her purse before marching towards the door.

Liam gave his brother an angry look before trying to chase after her, calling for her to stop as she disappeared out of the door to the car park.

Stunned, Emma was frozen to the spot, her eyes still firmly welded on Killian Jones (and his gorgeous hair, and those biceps, and the curve of his ass in those jeans-).

She barely noticed Ruby sidling up next to her. "So looks like those auditions are on then," she whispered.

Emma didn't reply, instead she fidgeted with the straps of her backpack and let a little fantasy play in her head.

One where she was the girl dancing with Killian Jones, held tight in his arms and swaying to the music…

**A/N - thank you for reading! Let me know what you think :D**


End file.
